Neon reflections rippled across rain-slicked pavement, painting distorted mosaics of the towering skyline. The Time Loop Bank (TLB) stood at the heart of it all, a monolithic structure of dark glass and pulsing circuits, as if it had absorbed the very essence of time itself.

Ethan Carter had never set foot inside before.

Yet, here he was, gripping a sleek, black envelope—embossed with a golden hourglass sigil and addressed to him in elegant silver script.

"Dear Mr. Carter, your time loan is now active. Please visit our headquarters immediately to finalize your contract."

His first thought was that this was a scam.

The second was that he had never borrowed time.

He turned the envelope over. No return address. No sender. Just his name, and the creeping unease that someone, somewhere, had decided his fate without his consent.

Against his better judgment, he stepped through the bank's massive, obsidian doors.

The lobby was eerily quiet.

A colossal hourglass dominated the center, suspended midair, golden sand trickling in both directions at once. It cast a ghostly shimmer over the marble floors, where rows of holographic counters flickered in and out of existence.

Ethan's gaze drifted toward the employees stationed behind sleek, glass desks. They were dressed in tailored black suits, their expressions impassive. Everything about them screamed precision, efficiency, and detachment from human concerns.

A woman with raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes approached, her high heels clicking against the floor with mechanical precision. She carried a tablet in one hand, the screen displaying Ethan's name alongside a countdown timer.

00:00:59

The seconds ticked downward.

"Mr. Carter," she greeted smoothly. "You're right on time."

Ethan tensed. "I think there's been a mistake. I never took out a—"

"Your time loan was approved by a future version of yourself."

His words caught in his throat. "A… future version?"

The woman's lips curled in a knowing smile. "Correct."

She turned the tablet toward him. On the screen was a signed contract—his signature, identical to his own, but dated fifty years in the future.

The timer hit 00:00:30.

"You have two choices, Mr. Carter," she continued, her voice calm, detached. "Sign the contract and assume your debt. Or…"

She pressed a button. The hourglass above them flickered.

"Default on your loan, and forfeit your remaining lifespan."

Ethan's blood ran cold.

This wasn't a bank. It was a ledger of fate.

And someone had just written him into it.

(To be continued…)